


Welcome to the TARDIS, Lucie Miller

by silverfoxstole



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Getting to know you, Lucie's first experience of the TARDIS, The Doctor and Lucie reach an understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With no other way of returning to Earth, Lucie has no choice but to get to know the madman and his blue box. The only trouble is, he really doesn't want her there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the TARDIS, Lucie Miller

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Blood of the Daleks and Horror of Glam Rock.

Lucie waited precisely three minutes and twenty-six seconds after they’d left Red Rocket Rising before asking: “So, what happens now?”

“What happens now?” the Doctor repeated in an incredulous tone. He had been leaning on the console, facing away from her but now he turned, and he didn’t look happy. “I would have thought that was obvious: we return you to Blackpool, 2006 and I go on my way. This is not going to turn into a permanent arrangement.”

“I gathered that, and there’s no need to be all snippy with me; this isn’t my fault,” she sniffed, staring him down as he came striding over, the tails of that stupid velvet coat flapping behind him. “I was just wondering, since you said there’s a force field or whatever it is around Lancashire, where we go from here. Could take a while to bust it, right? Am I supposed to just stand here and watch while you play with your knobs?”

He folded his arms, looking down that long nose at her, which wasn’t all that far as he couldn’t be more than four inches taller. “Yes, if I decide that’s what we’re going to do. This is _my_ TARDIS, _my_ home and you are a... a...” He faltered, for once at a loss for words, so Lucie supplied one for him.

“A guest?”

“A trespasser, more like. To call you a guest would suggest you’d been invited.”

“Look, mate,” Lucie said, her voice rising as she involuntarily clenched one hand into a fist ready to deck him, “ _You_ may not have invited me but your Time Lord friends did, so the least you can do is be civil to me. I didn’t ask to be stuck with you! If I had been I’d have said no, thanks, I’ll wait for the next one, for someone who actually talks to me with a bit of respect, not treats me like a worthless nuisance because I disturbed his precious peace and quiet.”

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. “Believe me, we may be the same species but the Time Lords have never been my friends. Our world views differ considerably.”

“Yeah, they said. They also said you’d keep me safe, that you help people, but in my case that’s obviously too much trouble.” She glanced wildly around the room, into the shadows; she hadn’t noticed much beyond the main console and the iron girders that surrounded it until now but to her surprise she spotted what looked for all the world like a little sitting room off to one side, with an overstuffed armchair and a Chinese rug, and behind it shelves upon shelves of books, reaching up towards the ceiling, wherever the ceiling actually was. Her gaze travelled up, and up, but still she couldn’t see it. Turning to the Doctor with a defiant toss of the head she gestured to the armchair and took a step towards it. “I’ll just sit over here like a good little girl until you’ve managed to break through whatever it is that’s stopping you dumping me back home, shall I?”

He didn’t answer, so she stomped off, throwing herself into the chair and grabbing for the book that was lying face down on the table beside it, holding it up to mask the fact that tears of rage were starting to spark in her eyes. This morning everything had been so simple; she’d aced the interview and she would have been all set. A decent job with prospects for once. And now? Now she had no idea what was going on; she’d been abducted, nearly been incinerated by crazy tin cans on another planet and  was apparently stuck light years away from home with a strange bloke old enough to be her dad who couldn’t stand the sight of her. Normally Lucie maintained her bolshie facade no matter what, but today had been the most stressful of her life and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up. “You just get on with it,” she told him, just about managing to keep the wobble from her voice. “Let me know when we’re there.”

There was a pause, and then the Doctor said quietly, “Lucie... Lucie, _stop_.”

Something in his tone made her, after initially deciding to ignore him no matter what he tried to say, lower the book slightly and peer over the top. He was leaning on the console again, head resting on one hand. After a beat the hand brushed down over his face, wearily, and he sighed. Bizarrely, for a moment he looked much older than he appeared.

“You’re... right, you’re absolutely right. I _do_ help people. It’s just...” He stared off into space for a moment before his eyes hardened slightly and he glanced towards her. “It’s just that I’ve become rather tired of taking in waifs and strays of late. I’m getting old and short-tempered, but that’s no reason to forget my manners.” He straightened up, long fingers hovering over a dial for a second before his shoulders slumped in apparent defeat. “It’s obvious that we’re going to be together for a while, until I can work out precisely what’s going on here, so we’re just going to have to make the best of it, aren’t we?”

“If you say so,” Lucie agreed warily. “Does that mean you’re going to stop all the snotty talk then? I don’t like being treated like rubbish, y’know.”

“I know, I know.” He didn’t apologise, but she supposed it was the best she was going to get for the minute.

“So... what do we do now, then?”

The Doctor clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gunshot and making her jump. “Well, how about I find you a room and give you the ten cent tour? Can’t have you wandering aimlessly about in here; you might end up in some far-flung corner of the TARDIS that I haven’t visited in centuries and it could take me days to find you.”

“Tour?” Lucie’s gaze travelled around the room; there were lights coming on here and there now, gaslights, candles, even what looked like a couple of old street lamps, and she could see that there was more to the room than she’d even begun to realise. On the other side of the console there was a tiny garden, and a whole bank of clocks, all set to different times; beyond them she could make out what looked like a load of filing cabinets, and a writing desk, and... “You mean there’s more to this place?”

“Of course there is; where do you think I sleep?”

Despite the situation, she felt a familiar cheeky grin sliding onto her face. “Well, how do I know whether you need to sleep? You said you’re not human; maybe you just... plug yourself in to recharge every night.”

“Please.” A dark look ghosted across his features for a moment before it was gone. “I’m a Time Lord, not a Cyberman.”

“OK, then; lead on MacDuff.” Throwing the book aside she bounced to her feet, the victory, small though it was, invigorating her.

“It’s ‘lay on’, not ‘lead on’,” he corrected, reminding her of her GCSE English teacher, not someone she ever particularly wanted to think about again. “ʻLay on, MacDuff’. I told Will everyone would get it wrong in the future, but would he listen..?”

“Look, mate, you do your thing, I’ll do mine. How big is this place, anyway?”

“Oh, Lucie.” The Doctor smiled for the first time since she’d returned, a smile that was sly and mischievous all at once. “You have no idea.”

***

“This is insane,” Lucie said ten minutes later, in the middle of traversing an apparently never-ending corridor, one with wood panelling and a carpet that might have felt at home in the palace, and which had forks left and right, some dark and gloomy and lit with torches, others white and shiny with what looked a lot like portholes on the walls. “You have to be doing some kind of magic trick here, a real David Blaine job. How does all this fit inside a police box?”

“You’ve walked the soil of another planet, flown on a spaceship and faced down Daleks today, but you still don’t believe in the TARDIS?” The Doctor shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Lucie, I really am.”

“I never said I didn’t believe it, just that I can’t get me head round how it works, that’s all. It’s mental. How many rooms are there?”

“Well, there’s the library, the kitchen, the wardrobe, the cloister room – don’t go in there, by the way, it’s the heart of the ship, very dangerous – the swimming pool, though I might have accidentally jettisoned that again, the cinema, the arboretum, the butterfly room...” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Beyond that I’ve never managed to count. Some appear and vanish according to the old girl’s whim, but those are the ones that tend to remain constant. It’s difficult to keep an exact account of a virtually infinite time and space ship.”

“And you live here all on your own? Bit big for one.” She gave him a sidelong look and thought she saw his jaw clench ever-so-slightly.

“For the last few months. My... circumstances changed recently. Here, this should do,” he said, stopping in front of an ordinary-looking wooden door and tapping something into a keypad beside it. The door swung open and he gestured towards it with a little flourish that made Lucie roll her eyes. “Your accommodation, Miss Miller.”

“Thanks, Jeeves.” Lucie wasn’t sure what to expect, half imagining a plain little room like one in a Travelodge, furnished with the just the barest comforts required to get by. What she actually got was something that resembled the plushest of hotel rooms as shown on that annoying advert with the woman who kept whispering crossed with her own room at home: a huge bed overflowing with throws and silky pillows, a posh dressing table covered with make-up and hair products, a rug she could lose her feet in and a poster of David Beckham on the wall. “Blimey. That’s... impressive.”

“Will it suffice, do you think?”

“Oh, it’ll more than ‘suffice’, thanks. How did you know I have a bit of a thing for old Goldenballs?” she asked.

The Doctor looked blank, his face clearing slightly when she nodded towards the picture. “Oh, that’s the TARDIS. You probably won’t notice, but she’ll pick up bits and pieces from your thoughts and memories. The old girl doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just the way her telepathic circuits work.”

“You mean she can see into my head?” Lucie blinked, not sure she was entirely comfortable with the idea.

“No, no, no, nothing like that. You just might find her changing the temperature if you feel cold, or nudging you in the right direction if you get lost. It’s only me she actually talks to. In a manner of speaking.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. You’re as bad as my granddad and his vintage MG, making it sound like it’s alive.”

“That’s because she is. The TARDIS is rather more than an old car, she’s a complex machine that exists in all of space and time at once and is symbiotically linked to her pilot.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s rather hard to explain...”

“Sounds it.” Lucie had to cover her mouth to hide an enormous yawn that suddenly appeared from nowhere. “Oops. Not that you’re boring me, or anything, but I think I might have a shower and a nap, if that’s OK. Been a long day.”

“Of course. There should be a bathroom through that door. If there isn’t, try the one across the hall. You can’t miss it; just look for the yellow duck.”

“Thanks. Doctor,” she said as he turned to leave, stopping him on the threshold. His eyebrow quirked again. “I am sorry I crashed into your life like this, you know. I didn’t plan it.”

For a moment he just looked at her, and then a rueful little smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “I know. And I suppose I should have been less...”

“Snobby? Uppity? Downright rude?”

“...defensive. It appears you have a remarkable talent for pushing my buttons, Lucie Miller.”

“Shouldn’t make it so easy, then, should you?” she suggested lightly.

“I’ll bear that in mind for the future. Help yourself to anything you need from the wardrobe,” he said, sharp blue gaze flicking ever so slightly up and down, and Lucie was suddenly conscious of her dirty, ruined interview suit and ripped tights; Dorothy Perkins’ work-wear hadn’t been built to withstand a Dalek battle. “I’ll be in the library when you’re done.”

***

“Well, I think I’d definitely give this place five stars.”

Lucie stretched luxuriously amongst the pillows, relishing the ability to starfish and still not feel the edges of the mattress. After a hot shower, at the start of which she’d been initially confused by the lack of controls before jumping backwards in a hurry when warm water started gushing out of the spout of its own accord, she’d wrapped herself up in the fluffy towelling robe that was hanging on the back of the door, curled up right in the middle of the enormous bed and fallen asleep almost immediately. Her wrecked clothes were still lying on the bathroom floor; she’d hurriedly rinsed her smalls through in the sink and hung them over the towel rail to dry, as the thought of going looking for clean underwear here made her blush all over, and Lucie wasn’t easily embarrassed.

“Mind you,” she said aloud, continuing her previous train of thought, “I might have to knock one off for the cantankerous host.” She stopped and blinked. “ʻCantankerous’? Where the hell did that come from? I’ve never used that word in my life!”

The ever-present hum, which she had only noticed after the Doctor left and which she’d been (wrongly) convinced would keep her awake, dipped slightly and changed in pitch, as though the TARDIS was trying to say something. Either that or the air-conditioning was on the fritz. Lucie lifted her head, half expecting to see some see-through woman standing at the end of the bed like a hologram from Star Trek, but there was nothing, just an improbable window with an even more impossible field of waving corn outside.

“Oh, so you think he’s a pain the bum, too?”

The hum lifted, then dropped back to its former level.

“Yeah, I agree, he really needs to loosen up; anyone would think he had a pole jammed up his whatsit. Oh, for Christ’s sake, listen to me: I’m talking to the wall.” She flopped back down onto the bed. “Lucie Miller, you have finally cracked.”

After lying there for a few more minutes she sighed and sat up properly. As a guest – even an unwanted one – in someone’s home she supposed it was probably a bit frowned upon to spend hours lolling around in bed. She reached for her watch to check the time and then threw it aside, realising she hadn’t looked at it before dropping off and so had no frame of reference. Apart from the collection of clocks in the control room, there was nothing to tell her what the actual time was; something of an oversight, Lucie decided, especially for a man who called himself a Time Lord.

“I suppose I’d better go and find him, see what trouble he’s managed to get himself into,” she told the ship. “Does he do that a lot, by the way? ‘Cause I like to be prepared.”

The hum dipped again.

“Yeah, I figured that. Right, no time like the present.” She slid over to the side of the bed and got to her feet, catching a glimpse of herself in the big mirror across the room as she did and realising that she was still wearing the bath robe. “OK, clothes first.” Her stomach picked that moment to remind her that it had been too long since breakfast with a spectacularly loud rumble. “Fine! Clothes, food, moody old ponce. Sounds like a plan.”

***

The wardrobe room thankfully wasn’t hard to find, although ‘warehouse room’ might have been a better description; racks and racks of clobber that went on as far as the eye could see, apparently from throughout history and all over the universe.

Lucie couldn’t work out why the Doctor could possibly need to so many clothes, particularly as most of them were for the wrong sex, would never fit him and he looked as though he got dressed in the dark anyway. She passed a thoroughly enjoyable half hour rummaging through the rails, eventually settling for a pair of skinny jeans and an oversize t-shirt and depositing another armful onto her bed to try on later.

Locating the kitchen proved rather more difficult. She was sure the Doctor had pointed it out as they passed, but for the life of her she couldn’t find the right door. Every one she opened had something strange behind it, from a dank cellar full of barrels to a yawning chasm that she only just managed not to step right into, but nothing resembling anything as mundane as a kitchen. When she turned yet another handle and found a cupboard full of old cardboard boxes she was starting to get fed up and her grumbling tum was becoming even more vocal.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she told the empty corridor. “I don’t know what aliens eat but surely a sandwich isn’t too much to ask for? Beans on toast’d do.”

Turning round she realised she’d strayed into the passage with the flaming torches. It didn’t really match the rest of the TARDIS, looking more like it had escaped from a medieval castle and there should be a torture chamber or a dungeon nearby. A chilly breeze whistled past, making her arms break out in goosebumps. Lucie ventured a little further, trying not to hop about on the flagstone floor in her bare feet. A huge pair of doors, thick enough to have been made from whole tree trunks, loomed up out of the flickering shadows; the handles were wrought iron, big enough to fit her head through, and weighed a ton.

“I was right first time,” she muttered. “This place _is_ mental.”

After a bit of struggling she managed to turn one of the handles and the door creaked open a crack. Lucie’s eyes widened as she saw what was behind: a massive chamber half-shrouded in trailing mist, its Gothic arches and windows soaring upwards so far they almost seemed to touch overhead. The castle analogy seemed even more appropriate here; the room could have been a great hall, just waiting for a king or a baron to sweep down the staircase and take up residence. She could almost see the Sheriff of Nottingham flouncing about and ordering his minions to call off Christmas.

“Well, that’s definitely not the kitchen. Not unless Henry the Eighth lives here. Aaagh!!!!” Squealing she jumped back, almost crashing into the door, as with an unearthly screeching something flew straight at her, its leathery wings brushing her cheek. She batted at it ineffectually, heart beating nineteen to the dozen with irrational terror, before she realised it had gone and cautiously opened her eyes. Slumping against the wall with relief she immediately felt a complete idiot. “Oh, get a grip, Miller,” she told herself. “Better than a bleedin’ fun house, this is.”

Gratefully letting the enormous door bang shut she hurried back up the corridor, and immediately spotted another one she hadn’t noticed before. It was perfectly ordinary and rather out of place amongst the stone with its neat wood panels and white gloss frame. With a crow of victory Lucie threw it open. “Ha! _This_ looks more like it. By the law of averages – or something – this must be the right one! Cheese sarnies, here I come!”

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for her to realise that the law of averages apparently didn’t apply inside the TARDIS. Instead of, as she might have expected given this was meant to be a spaceship, futuristic versions of the usual accoutrements of a kitchen, such as a fridge, an oven or – if she was completely honest about her cooking skills – a microwave, she was looking at the longest row of bookshelves she’d ever seen in her life, even more than there had been in the console room.

“Great. What does a body have to do to get fed around here?” she asked the room at large, but unsurprisingly got no reply. The books just stretched on to either side of her, and ahead a plush carpet wound into the distance like the Yellow Brick Road might have done if it had been green and made of Allied’s finest. Here and there she could see reading tables illuminated by lamps with shades that matched the carpet, and between them huge, comfy-looking red leather sofas. One of these, she saw as she began to march down the room towards it, was occupied; getting closer it was evident that the Doctor must have been waiting for a while for her to turn up as he had apparently fallen asleep reading. He was stretched out, feet up on the couch, his book upside down on the floor at his side. “Well, he did say he’d be in the library,” Lucie muttered to herself, raising her voice to add in a tone that was deliberately only just on the right side of apologetic, “Sorry, Doctor; got lost. Doctor?”

He didn’t answer; didn’t even twitch. Lucie shook his shoulder. Nothing.

“Oi, stop it, Doctor, it’s not funny. I’ve already been freaked out enough by this stupid ship of yours,” she told him. “All I want is a cup of tea and a butty and I can’t even find the bloody kitchen.”

Still no response, not even a flicker of the eyelids. Lucie wasn’t normally one to panic, but she felt a cold trickle of fear down her spine. She was alone on this insane ship but for him; if he was ill, or worse, dead, what the hell was she supposed to do? Thankfully her practical side kicked in and she leant over him, tapping the side of his face first gently and then, when that didn’t work, harder.

“Come on, Doctor, wake up. My blood sugar is flat lining and I’m really not in the mood for fun and games, OK? Doctor? Doctor, please say something.”

Nothing. Lucie was gearing up to give him a right belt when she suddenly noticed something more than a little alarming: he’d taken off his coat and undone his collar and from this angle it was horribly evident that beneath the fabric of his shirt and ridiculous outdated waistcoat his chest wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing!

“Oh my God, oh my God, what do I do, what do I do?” Desperately she glanced around for help but no one appeared from the floor or walls. She really was on her own. “Come on, Miller, _think_!”

Bingo! _Kiss of life!_ Lucie had never taken first aid classes but she’d seen Casualty enough times to know that when someone wasn’t breathing you needed to do it for them. Steeling herself, she bent her head, mentally repeating over and over that she wasn’t really kissing him, she wasn’t, she wasn’t... Her lips hovered inches from his and she took a deep breath –

\- only to almost stop breathing herself when his eyes flew open and she found herself staring into them, mesmerised for a second before they both yelled and she let him go, stumbling backwards as fast as she could and colliding with a standard lamp. Her momentum carried her and the lamp into the nearby bookshelves and her flailing hands brought down a load of very heavy hardbacks right on top; there was a horribly familiar screeching as something erupted from the space the books had left and flapped around her head like a demon. Lucie heard the Doctor call her name but she was too busy shrieking and trying to smack the thing – whatever it was – away from her.

“Aaagh! Get it off! Get it _off_!”

“Lucie! Lucie, stop it! Stop - ” Her hand connected with something solid. “Ow!!”

Strong, cold fingers grabbed her wrists and held them tightly; prevented from thrashing Lucie peered wildly through her hair and found the Doctor crouching beside her. His face was creased in concern and there was a red mark spreading across his cheek but that wasn’t what caught her attention: on his shoulder huddled something distinctly brown and furry and which looked horribly like a...

“Doctor,” she said carefully, “Is that what I think it is?”

He frowned, puzzled. “Is what what you think it is?”

She pointed a trembling finger as best she could. “ _That_.”

“Hmm?” He glanced at the thing that now appeared to be nuzzling into his neck. Lucie felt more than a little revolted. “Oh, no need to worry; that’s just Stewart.”

“Just tell me: is that, or is it not, a bat?”

The Doctor’s frown deepened. “Of course he’s a bat; what else would he be? It’s all right; he won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe, but do you mind putting him somewhere else? He’s giving me the heebie-jeebies,” Lucie said with a shudder.

“OK, OK, if he bothers you that much.” Releasing her, the Doctor stood, reaching round to lift Stewart (who the hell called a bat Stewart, anyway?) from his perch; he stroked the bat’s head, cooing to him like a little old lady with a budgie, before throwing him lightly into the air. Stewart unfurled his wings with a cheep and flapped off towards the ceiling.

Relieved, Lucie tried to dig herself out from under the books but had to suffer the indignity of being rescued by the Doctor, who was looking far more amused at her predicament than was fair, given how much he’d startled her a few minutes before. He offered a hand, which she took with a show of extreme reluctance, and pulled her effortlessly to her feet, producing a handkerchief to dust her down.

“You certainly like to make an entrance,” he remarked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“ _I_ do? Well, I like that!” Lucie glared at him. “It was _your_ fault!”

He blinked innocently at her. “Me? How so? I was just catching up with Agatha Christie- ”

“Doctor,” she said in a strained voice, trying to remain calm and not punch him in the mush, “You weren’t breathing. I thought...” For a moment the panic rose again, from the pit of her stomach, and she knew just then it had nothing to do with the bat; annoyed, she fought it down. “I thought you might be... dead.”

“Dead?” he repeated, innocence briefly turning into confusion before after a few seconds comprehension dawned and he nodded. “Oh, you mean my respiratory bypass kicked in. It happens sometimes.”

“What?!” Lucie just stared, the urge to clobber him increasing. “You mean you can just die and come back to life whenever you want?”

The Doctor snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Hey, you’ve just scared the living daylight out of me, so don’t call me ridiculous, mate!” she told him in a dangerous tone.

She must have swung a fist slightly as he took a step back, hands raised as though to ward her off. “Sorry, sorry... look, you’ve obviously had a shock, and I have the best remedy for that. Well, for most things, really.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that: some weird alien medicine? Don’t think I want any, thanks all the same.”

“I wouldn’t give you any; I’m not that kind of Doctor. Actually, it’s a miracle cure invented by humans, with the power to cool heads and stop wars.”

“Really?” Lucie was curious despite herself. “What is it?”

He smiled slightly. “Tea.”

***

Much to Lucie’s irritation, the Doctor found the kitchen straight away.

After all the weird things she’d seen so far it was relief to be shepherded into a normal room filled with comfortingly low-tech equipment and sat down at a battered oak table while the Doctor pottered about putting the kettle on and searching the cupboards for chocolate biscuits. When Lucie’s stomach decided to rumble again, his eyebrows shot up and he threw himself into making a pile of sandwiches, upon which she fell feeling like a castaway that hadn’t eaten in days. She was on her third when he put down a brown pottery teapot and a mug in front of her, taking his own drink and the biscuits and straddling a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re so nervous of bats?” he enquired, watching her heap four spoons of sugar into her tea, which was thick and dark enough to stand a spoon in, exactly how she liked it.

“Are you going to explain how come you don’t need to keep breathing?” she countered. “If that’s going to happen all the time I’ve a right to know; I’m way too young to have a heart attack.”

He just looked at her over the rim of his cup and she sighed, abandoning her Swiss cheese and tomato.

“Oh, all right. If you must know, I got four or five of ‘em stuck in my hair once at the zoo. Trish - that’s my best mate Trish - dragged me into one of those stupid bat walk thingies, where it’s all dark and they fly around your head. Took ages to free them and they were squeaking and screeching and it freaked me out something rotten, OK? I’ve hated ‘em ever since.” Lucie took a big swig of cooling tea and tilted her chin defiantly. “So go on, then, tell me I’m a big girl’s blouse because you’ve found out my one weakness.”

The Doctor shook his head. “I wasn’t going to. The fear might seem irrational, but that doesn’t make it any less real to you. Perhaps living with the bats around might help you to overcome your phobia.”

“I don’t think so, thanks all the same. Why do you even have bats in this crate, anyway?”

“For company; it can get a little lonely here sometimes. And don’t call the TARDIS a crate,” he added sternly, “She can be very sensitive. You don’t want to insult her and find she’s done something awkward to the architecture.”

“Looks to me like she’s already done that,” Lucie remarked, thinking of the hundred-foot drop she’d only saved herself from falling straight into by desperately grabbing hold of the doorframe. “Wait a minute: have we just established that there’s more than one bat in here?”

“Yes, Stewart and his twin Jasper. But they’re unlikely to bother you much; they tend to stay in the cloister room. More space for them to fly about there.” The Doctor cocked his head on one side, looking like an interested spaniel. “You know, it’s strange that Stewart should have been in the library in the first place; he must have escaped somehow.”

“Maybe someone left the door open.”

“Well, I know I didn’t; the Eye of Harmony’s been running well and I’ve had no reason to enter the cloister room for quite a while. And the doors have a tendency to close themselves; they’re very heavy, you see.” He took a sip from his cup, a dainty china thing with a saucer unlike the M&Ms mug he’d given Lucie, blue eyes bright and inquisitive. “You didn’t happen to see any doors like that on your way here by any chance, did you?”

“I saw a lot of things, but not many of ‘em made sense.” Lucie sniffed, and took another bite of her sandwich. She chewed for a few seconds before asking idly, “Would it matter if I had?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Not really, just that if you did, and you opened one of them, that could have let Stewart out to scare you in the library. Oh, and if you touched anything while you were there it might have activated the miniature black hole at the heart of the TARDIS, that’s all.”

“Except that you know I didn’t because if I had we’d be screaming by now,” she told him, finishing the last butty and licking tomato juice from her fingers. “I can see right through you, mister.”

He just gave her an enigmatic smile that made her want to slap him and got up to refill his cup from another pot on the side. When he returned he left the milk on the table for Lucie to pour another for herself; for some reason, despite everything else around her, the presence of a completely ordinary bottle of milk seemed completely out of place, like an iPhone turning up in a Rembrandt.

“You not drinking this, then?” she asked.

“What, builder’s tea?” The Doctor pulled a face. “No, thanks; it’s all yours.” He raised his cup. “Darjeeling, that’s the thing.”

Lucie wrinkled her nose. “Dishwater? You need a slug of this, mate; it’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“How do you know I don’t have any?” he retorted, leaning back in his chair. It was the most relaxed he’d been in her presence yet.

“There are lots of things I don’t know about you. Like how come you seem human when you’re apparently an alien? Your fashion sense definitely needs some work but you look normal to me. And why would you just ‘forget’ to breathe?” She hooked an arm over the back of her own chair. “Where I come from breathing’s pretty important.”

He sighed noisily, defensive shields springing back up again. That was quick. “Do you always ask personal questions of someone you hardly know?”

“I don’t usually end up roomies with them on the first day,” Lucie pointed out. “Come on; I think I’ve got a right to be told whether I’m likely to have to give you the kiss of life or not.”

“You were going to do that?” The Doctor’s mouth quirked in amusement and his eyes danced for a moment. “It would have been pointless, but thank you for considering it. As for my outward appearance, the humanoid form is incredibly convenient; there’s a good reason why it proliferated all over the universe. Internally, however, things get a bit different: I have two hearts to your one and my lungs are supplemented by a respiratory bypass system, which negates the need for me to breathe continually. It usually kicks in when I don’t have enough air, so it’s odd that it decided to activate itself when I fell asleep.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucie said. “Maybe you were snoring.”

He looked affronted. “I do not snore.”

“That’s what everyone who snores says.”

“Maybe, but I can assure you _I_ don’t.”

“I’ll come and listen at your bedroom door to find out...” she threatened, and to her surprise instead of getting more indignant he actually laughed. Putting his tea aside he held out a hand; Lucie just looked at it. “What’s that for?”

“I’m offering a truce. Just until I manage to get you home, mind,” the Doctor added before she could open her mouth. “I won’t complain about you being here if you agree to cut back on the snark.”

“You shouldn’t leave yourself wide open to it, then, should you?” she asked, pretending to consider the offer. The Doctor’s lips twitched and his eyes narrowed briefly in annoyance; Lucie waited until he was about to withdraw his hand before she reached across the table and grabbed it, shaking it as vigorously as she could. “All right; you got yourself a deal. Only I can’t promise to stop completely; it’s the way I work. My ‘modus operandi’, if you want.”

He flicked an eyebrow. “Well, Lucie Miller, you’ve seen _my_ modus operandi. Think you can handle it?”

“Doctor, please. I was there when the Daleks were defeated. How hard can it be?”

“Famous last words.” He drained his teacup and stood. “Come on, then; the sooner I break the lock on the TARDIS the sooner we get you back to 2006.”

Lucie found herself chasing after him almost without realising as he strode from the room; halfway down the corridor she fell into step. “By the way, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you have _really_ cold hands. Circulation problem, or is it another Time Lord thing?”

“Another Time Lord thing.” The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets. “You don’t mind the scenic route home, do you? I have a feeling I may have to get quite creative; the High Council is nothing if not devious.”

“By the scenic route, do you mean other planets, like that one we just left?”

“Better than that, I hope. And not just other worlds; the TARDIS does travel in time as well as space, after all.”

For the first time since she had first entered the ship, Lucie could feel a little wave of excitement building in the pit of her stomach, rather like the one you got waiting in line for the Big One at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. “So we could end up in the past... or the future?”

“That’s about the size of it.” He led the way into the control room and up to the console, almost jumping onto the dais in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. His fingers danced over switches and buttons, twisting dials and twiddling toggles. There was a gleam in his eye as he shot her a glance over his shoulder. “Are you up for it?”

“I’m up for anything, me,” Lucie assured him. “Just you bring it on!”

The Doctor grinned wolfishly as he rammed the lever that started the TARDIS’s engines home.

“Mental.”

 


End file.
